Chapter 8 - The Maid’s Forbidden Past
Elena stood in front of Vincent with the old confession in her hands: "I was there when Isabella Marlowe disappeared." When Vincent Moretti investigated the hidden page, he discovered a child’s handwriting beneath the confession. But three words were written at the bottom: "She made me." Vincent realized Elena had been carrying a memory she was never supposed to remember.
The paper slipped slightly in Vincent’s hand.
For several seconds, he couldn't breathe.
The handwriting.
The confession.
The name.
Everything pointed to one impossible truth.
Elena had been there.
Fifteen years ago.
The night Isabella vanished.
But Elena had been a child.
A child who should not have known anything.
A child who should have been protected from everything happening inside the Moretti mansion.
Vincent looked at the document again.
"Who wrote this?"
Nobody answered.
The archive was silent.
Then Elena spoke.
"I did."
Vincent looked at her.
Her face was pale.
But she wasn't surprised.
That was the part that disturbed him.
She had seen the paper before.
"You knew?"
Elena slowly nodded.
"Not everything."
She looked at the confession.
"But I remembered pieces."
Vincent placed the paper on the table.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Elena looked away.
"Because I didn't remember enough."
A pause.
"And because my mother told me never to talk about that night."
Vincent stepped closer.
"What do you remember?"
Elena closed her eyes.
The memories came back slowly.
Not like a story.
Like broken pieces.
A hallway.
A scream.
A woman crying.
A man's voice.
Her mother's hand holding hers.
"Elena, listen to me."
Her mother's voice.
"I need you to be brave."
The fire.
The smoke.
The sound of glass breaking.
Then darkness.
Elena opened her eyes.
"I remember my mother running."
Vincent listened.
"She was holding something."
"What?"
"I don't know."
She touched her head.
"I was too young."
"What happened after?"
Elena looked at him.
"I saw someone."
The room became still.
"Who?"
Her lips trembled.
"I don't know."
That answer frustrated Vincent.
But he saw something else.
Fear.
Not fake fear.
Real fear.
Because Elena wasn't hiding information.
She was fighting a memory.
Margaret entered the archive quietly.
She had been listening.
Her expression changed when she saw the document.
"No."
Vincent turned.
"You know this?"
Margaret looked at Elena.
"Your mother erased that memory."
Elena froze.
"What?"
Margaret walked closer.
"Isabella knew someone would try to use what you saw against you."
Vincent frowned.
"She erased her daughter's memory?"
"Not literally."
Margaret shook her head.
"She protected her."
Elena looked confused.
"How?"
"She made you believe you forgot."
The words were painful.
"She repeated the same story every day."
Margaret looked at Elena.
"That your father died before you were born."
"That you never knew the Moretti family."
"That you never came here."
Elena looked down.
Because those were exactly the memories she had.
A simple childhood.
A quiet life.
A mother who disappeared.
But now she realized.
Maybe it wasn't simple.
Maybe it was carefully created.
Vincent looked at Margaret.
"Why would Isabella do that?"
Margaret answered immediately.
"Because Elena saw the person who betrayed her."
The next morning, Vincent made a decision.
No one outside the mansion would know about Elena's identity.
Not yet.
He moved her to a private room inside the main house.
Not the servants' quarters.
A room protected by guards.
Celeste noticed immediately.
And she hated it.
"You moved her upstairs."
Vincent didn't look up from his papers.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because she is in danger."
Celeste laughed quietly.
"Or because you are starting to believe she belongs here."
Vincent looked at her.
"Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Turn this into something personal."
Celeste's expression hardened.
"Everything is personal now."
She stepped closer.
"You found out she is connected to your family."
Vincent stayed silent.
"And now you look at her differently."
"She is innocent."
Celeste smiled sadly.
"You don't know that."
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
"What does that mean?"
Celeste looked away.
"Ask yourself why Isabella spent fifteen years hiding Elena."
A pause.
"Ask yourself why a mother would erase her own daughter's memories."
Vincent didn't answer.
Because that question bothered him too.
That afternoon, Elena walked through the mansion.
For the first time, she wasn't invisible.
Every servant looked at her differently.
Some with respect.
Some with fear.
Some with suspicion.
She hated it.
She missed being unnoticed.
A quiet life.
A simple uniform.
A world where nobody cared who her mother was.
She entered the old library.
The place where Isabella used to bring her.
At least, according to her memories.
She walked toward the shelves.
Something felt familiar.
A book.
A painting.
A corner near the window.
Then she saw it.
A small carving on the wooden wall.
A mark.
She touched it.
And suddenly the memory returned.
Her mother kneeling beside her.
Crying.
Writing something into the wood.
Elena whispered:
"Mom..."
She pressed the mark.
A hidden compartment opened.
Inside was a small envelope.
Her name was written on it.
Elena Marlowe.
Her hands shook as she opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
A photograph of herself as a child.
Standing beside Isabella.
And beside them...
A man.
Vincent's father.
But the shocking part wasn't the picture.
It was the writing on the back.
My daughter must never know who she really is.
Elena froze.
That night, Vincent returned to his office.
He had spent hours searching through old records.
Everything connected.
Everything pointed to the same night.
But one question remained.
Why was Elena's existence hidden from everyone?
His phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A familiar voice spoke.
"Vincent."
He froze.
Because he knew that voice.
Marcus.
"Where are you?"
A quiet laugh.
"Looking for answers?"
Vincent stood.
"Tell me why you lied."
Marcus didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"Because your father asked me."
The words hit hard.
"My father?"
"Yes."
Vincent tightened his grip on the phone.
"Why?"
Marcus's voice became colder.
"Because your father knew Elena was not Isabella's daughter."
Silence.
Vincent stopped breathing.
"What did you say?"
Marcus continued.
"She was the reason Isabella died."
Vincent felt the room spin.
"You're lying."
"No."
A pause.
"And if you want proof..."
A sound came through the phone.
A door opening.
Then Marcus whispered:
"Come to the old chapel."
Vincent grabbed his coat.
"Why?"
Marcus answered:
"Because someone is waiting there who has been dead for fifteen years."
The call ended.
Vincent rushed toward the exit.
But before he reached the door, his phone received one final message.
A picture.
Taken inside the old chapel.
May you like
And standing beside Marcus...
Was Isabella Marlowe.
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